


Elsewhere

by slash4femme



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Pon Farr, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slash4femme/pseuds/slash4femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the first time pon farr comes upon them</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elsewhere

**Author's Note:**

> I will not lie, this was inspired by [this beautiful piece of k/s prime art](http://community.livejournal.com/newtrekslash/274668.html) by [](http://jou.livejournal.com/profile)[**jou**](http://jou.livejournal.com/). beta read by [](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/)**cardiac_logic** who is just wonderful.

I.

It’s hot, really very hot; McCoy’s hair is sticking to his head with sweat, and he can feel sweat trickling down his back. He’s beginning to think they made a mistake choosing to deal with it on New Vulcan, but it was, after all, the logical choice. Spock has been burning incense as he’s been deep in meditation for days now, and the smoke and scent of it hangs heavy in the room, making it feel even hotter and more closed in to McCoy. If he weren’t already naked, he’d be taking a layer off, hell, several layers off, right now.

“Leonard,” Spock says, his voice deeper than usual, and it’s unmistakably a command. McCoy goes to him, and Spock does not hesitate before winding his fingers in McCoy’s hair, cupping the back of McCoy’s head with one hand, drawing him close. Spock’s fingers are burning hot against McCoy’s face, pressing hard, and McCoy gasps, sucks in air like a drowning man as their bond opens. Heat rushes in at him like a wall - desire, need, like a burning ache that consumes him. Breathing is almost physically painful and his skin doesn’t seem to fit quite right; Spock kisses him hard then, forceful and demanding, his tongue surging into McCoy’s mouth and if it hadn’t been for Spock’s hand still on the back of his head McCoy might have been pushed back by the onslaught. It takes him a second, but then McCoy returns the kiss with equal passion, pushing at Spock’s heavy robes until he manages to get them off the older man’s shoulders. Spock is naked underneath and he grinds himself against the other man’s body. His own hand tangles in Spock’s grey hair, kissing him hard, all hot lips, teeth and tongue. They part finally just far enough for them both to suck in air, and McCoy runs his tongue across his lips and tastes blood.

McCoy kisses Spock again, kisses across his jaw, and Spock growls, actually growls, and McCoy pushes his hips forward, groaning against Spock’s skin. Spock’s hand is on his shoulder, incredibly hot and forceful, not that McCoy needs it as he sinks willingly to his knees. Spock is flushed a very light green all the way up his chest, but his erection is a darker olive green, and McCoy sighs, leaning forward and licking at it, before Spock’s hand settles on the back of McCoy’s head again. McCoy braces his hands against Spock’s thighs as Spock pushes forward into his mouth, concentrates on opening his throat as much as possible because Spock just doesn’t stop. Spock’s hand tightens on the back of McCoy’s head, then Spock starts to thrust and McCoy’s eyes slide shut as he lets him. He wants this, it surprises him how much he wants this; Spock never just takes like this, never before now, at least. Spock thrusts back into McCoy’s mouth and McCoy struggles to breathe through his nose.

_Leonard_ Spock draws back finally with effort and McCoy tears his eyes away from Spock’s cock, wet and glistening with spit. He blinks up at the older man and Spock is shaking with effort as he drops his hand away from McCoy’s head, and McCoy wants to tell him it’s ok - McCoy doesn’t mind if Spock fucks his mouth like that, he really doesn’t. He gets up though, moves across the room to the bed and Spock pushes him down on top of it hard, Spock’s body coming down heavily on top of his. McCoy spreads his legs, lets Spock settle between his thighs. Spock ruts against him, thrusting hard between his legs; his arms are on the either side of McCoy’s head, his mouth on McCoy’s chest, just breathing hard against bare skin, and McCoy can feel wave after wave of need crashing down on top of him. He grips Spock’s upper arms, thrusts right back up against him. One of Spock’s hands presses against McCoy’s throat and presses hard; McCoy gasps for breath and finds there is none. Spock’s voice is in his head - a constant litany of endearments Spock never says out loud. 

_Dearest, beloved, T’hy’la, only._

Pleasure presses McCoy’s body into the bed, his vision clouding over as he comes hard, against his own stomach and against Spock’s chest. Spock’s hand is no longer on his throat; instead the older man is holding himself up over McCoy, hands pressed against the bed, panting, still painfully hard. McCoy gasps for breath, screws his eyes shut and thinks as hard as he can.

_Let go. It’s ok, just let go._

Spock’s arms are shaking, muscles knotted as Spock holds himself back away from McCoy. He knows what Spock’s afraid of; he’s read the papers, heard the stories, had several mind melds with Spock on this topic. He’d prepared very carefully because of it; they both had. He manages to blindly reach out one arm and grope across the bedside table, knocking things onto the floor until his fingers close around a bottle. He’s already prepared himself, but he uncorks the bottle anyway, managing to spill most of it across his own lower body and Spock. Spock makes a sound through gritted teeth that McCoy’s only heard people in pain make and he flings the bottle across the bed and grips Spock’s shoulder.

_Let go._

It’s a command with his full will behind it, and Spock’s moving, his scalding fingers clamping around McCoy’s hips, dragging them up off the bed, and Spock’s inside of him in one long push, which is hard enough to be almost brutal, that forces McCoy across the bed, makes his fists clench into the sheets. They never just fuck, McCoy thinks hazily, before Spock thrusts into him, hard enough that he cries out without really meaning to. Spock’s hands have moved from his hips to his shoulders and Spock drags him up with that strength that’s still so damn unnatural, and McCoy locks his arms around Spock’s neck for balance, bites at Spock’s shoulder which is pressed back against him and wonders whether this really will kill them both. 

_Just come_ , he thinks frantically,  _please God, just come already_ .

Spock thrusts into McCoy’s body with a force that rocks them both, then again, no more gently than the first; his lips press against McCoy’s ear, the side of his head, and he comes unbearably hot inside of McCoy. 

They both collapse backwards onto the bed, both trying to breath. The first thing McCoy does when he regains the use of his arms is reach over the side of the bed for his tricorder. He scans Spock and looks up to find Spock watching him.

“Just making sure you’re not going to die of heart failure on me,” McCoy tells him, then scans himself for good measure. Not that he’s worried; he’d be able to tell if something was really wrong. 

“Sleep, Leonard.” Spock eyes slide shut again, “We are not nearly done here.” 

McCoy can’t decide if that’s supposed to be a warning or a promise. He drops his tricorder on the bed and lies down next to Spock, ignoring the parts of his body that ache and twinge. 

A few hours later he is awakened by Spock licking his throat, whispering wordlessly into his mind. McCoy sighs but he also reaches up toward the older man, pulls him down, kisses him hard, and wraps his legs around Spock’s waist. Spock presses their foreheads together, telegraphing his intent straight into McCoy’s mind. McCoy’s eyes widen for a moment before Spock turns them both and McCoy finds himself on top of Spock looking down into impossibly dark eyes.McCoy leans forward and kisses the other man, licks along the curve of one of his elegant ears, spreads Spock’s thighs with his hands, as everything inside him sings, _now, now, now_. Spock’s eyes are closed now, his breath coming hard and ragged. McCoy rakes his fingernails up Spock’s chest leaving light green marks in their wake, combs through Spock’s grey chest hair now tacky with come. McCoy doesn’t want to think about how long they’ve been doing this, or how long they still have to go; he doesn’t want to think at all. 

 

II.

McCoy stands in the doorway that connects the antechamber to the bedroom and wonders what time it is. He’s dressed in soft pajama pants and that’s about it, and he’s carrying two tall glasses of water. Spock is still in bed tangled in the sheets, half propped up against the headboard, and McCoy thinks he looks pretty good all things considered. Actually, McCoy wishes he felt as good as Spock looks. He’s gotten rid of the worst of the livid bruises on his wrists and throat, but he still aches all over. He moves across the room to the bed and Spock looks up and does that thing with his eyes, which McCoy knows means he’s smiling. Spock’s hair is rumpled and there is a rather impressive dark green bite mark on his shoulder. McCoy frowns; he should damn well remember biting someone hard enough to leave a mark like that but for the life of him he can’t remember when it happened. He hands Spock one of the glasses of water and crawls back onto the bed to settle in Spock’s lap, back against Spock’s chest. Spock lets one arm wrap loosely around McCoy’s waist and they drink their water in companionable silence. Finally McCoy sets aside his empty glass. 

“The worst is over, right?” He feels Spock nods against his hair and can’t help sigh of relief. He loves Spock, he really does, but he wasn’t at all sure about how much more of that he could take. Carefully he slides off the bed. “I’m going to go tell Commander Spock that you didn’t actually kill me and he can go back to the _Enterprise_ now,” he tells Spock over his shoulder as he makes his way out of the bedroom. When he reaches the living room he’s surprised to find it’s day out, with sunlight streaming in from the patio. He blinks several times, waiting for his eyes to adjust, and the tall, younger man stands gracefully from the couch, putting aside a PADD. 

“Doctor.”

McCoy squints at the younger version of his husband. “We’re fine, Commander,” he tells him, “Go back to Jim, get some sleep. I sure as hell intend to.” 

Spock only nods slightly and touches his comm link. 

“Enterprise. One to beam aboard.”

McCoy is already turning away by the time Spock is consumed by light. He goes to the kitchen and gathers up the food and water they set aside earlier. He brings it all back into the bedroom and flops back down on the bed. “I think we might have traumatized him for life, you know that?”

The older Spock raises his eyebrows at him, “I doubt it.”

“Yeah, but God only knows how loud we were.” 

“I would remind you, Leonard, that having the Commander within hearing range was in fact the point, incase something were to have . . . gone amiss.” 

McCoy reaches across to squeeze Spock’s hand before taking a large swallow of water, and closes his eyes. He feels Spock’s fingers brush against his forehead. Spock’s skin is still way too hot, and he’s almost fidgety, restless in a way he hardly ever is. McCoy sighs and rolls onto his side with his head on Spock’s lap. 

“Sleep, Spock,” he says drowsily into the sheets; Spock’s hands stroke across his head in a soothing rhythm and McCoy drifts into sleep.

 


End file.
